


True North

by keptein



Category: Avengers, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Von Doom wants war, and this - “ another faded photo glides over the wooden tabletop, of a man with a crooked grin, cold blue eyes and oil smudged on his cheek “- is the alchemist who’s going to win us that war.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Steve Rogers nods. “Where do I find him, sir?”</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>Sent to the edges of their country, Steve Rogers stays with the mysterious alchemist Anthony Stark and his helper, Pepper Potts, for thirty days and thirty nights to learn Stark's secrets - but things are not as they seem, and Steve finds himself questioning his loyalties, both new and old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True North

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quixotesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotesque/gifts).



> for [rei](http://quixotesque.tumblr.com). i'm going to leave you a post uncomfortably full of feelings on skype, so i just want you to know two things:  
> 1\. you're awesome.  
> 2\. do you have _any idea_ how hard it is to write a 12k fic that is not cooperating without once whining about it on twitter? an extra thanks to lara for bearing the brunt of it.
> 
> a whole bunch of thanks to [lara](http://commanderstevenrogers.tumblr.com), really, because she's been such a thorough, fast and all around amazing beta, on top of writing her own fic - which i'm sure will be amazing.  
> [kendii](http://saccharinerush.tumblr.com) drew the AMAZING art, and she was also the one who first approached me about doing something together for rei's birthday, so blame her.
> 
> lastly, my birthday's october 13th. just throwing that out there.

Far, far away, on a world that might have been, there is a circle of cold, cruel mountain peaks. They nestle a small, but fierce country inhabited by the gentlest of souls and the strongest of warriors. Its streets are filled with color, children running underfoot, the air heavy with the smell of spices and fruit and linen; clotheslines arch over the intimate alleyways, houses lean into each other like old friends. In stark contrast to the treacherous nature at its borders, both the country and its citizens are known for being amiable and warm, from the tops of the hills to the deep of the valley.

“And all this,” Nick Fury says in a worn, familiar diner, “is being threatened by Latveria.” The leather of his coat squeaks slightly as he reaches into a pocket and fishes out two pictures, the first of which he slides over the table to his companion. The picture is of a man covered in metal and fur, looking regal as he stares up at the skies. “Our western neighbor, governed by the monarch Victor von Doom. As you know, Latveria is lacking in several natural resources, due to their harsh and unforgiving climate. Von Doom wants ours.” Fury pauses for a heartbeat. “Von Doom wants war, and this - “ another faded photo glides over the wooden tabletop, of a man with a crooked grin, cold blue eyes and oil smudged on his cheek “- is the alchemist who’s going to win us that war.”

Steve Rogers nods. “Where do I find him, sir?”

Their conversation pauses for a moment as their food is brought to the table. The diner is bustling, and no one is paying mind to the sharply dressed men in the corner. "Stark used to be our top chem designer, until he packed up his business and retreated into the woods."

"Why?" Steve asks between bites of his vurgin.

"None of your concern," Fury replies. "What we need is for you to find him and convince him to bring that business back."

Steve frowns, but doesn't give voice to his objections.

"There are rumors of him staying near Ubilam," Fury says, and unearths a thin folder to put beside Steve's plate. "That's where you'll start. We’re keeping this quiet, so you'll have a limited amount of resources and a mission frame of two months."

"Two months?" Unless it's a mole job, Steve's missions last a month at most, and he doesn't quell the surprise on his face.

"Stark can be a tough nut to crack," Fury says seriously. "I'm putting my best man on this, Rogers. Don't let me down."

Putting his vurgin down, Steve looks at Fury, who looks back without betraying a hint of emotion.

"Yes, sir," Steve says finally. "When do I leave?"

*

On the way to the rooms he’s renting, Steve passes children playing hopscotch and men exchanging packages in covert corners. Fury’s words are at the forefront of his mind. He’s heard of both Latveria and von Doom before, has heard of the Metal King, but he’s surprised Latveria would risk a war against them – the mountains make for scarce population, and they import a vast majority of their food and goods from Steve’s country. He has never had the opportunity to meet von Doom, doesn’t particularly want to, but he seems like a reasonable man – as much as any dictatorial megalomaniac is capable of reason. Reasonable enough, at least, not to attack Latveria’s main food supplier.

Steve is frowning as he opens his door, the press of his fingers recognized by the handle. The rooms that fold out to greet him still feel unfamiliar, that kneejerk reaction of _not right, not how it’s supposed to be_ , although Steve is learning to smother it. He’s come to terms with the fact that it may never pass.

He puts down his bag, including Fury’s folder, on the table and pulls out a chair to sit. The living room is small, but the exaggerated emptiness of it ensures that Steve feels like he has more than enough space. The small dining table and two kitchen chairs are by far the main feature of the room, although some modest bookshelves in the corner keep them from being the sole furniture.

The bookshelves are home to relics of another time, ones Steve can’t help but linger on every time he passes them.

His bedroom is in the same state as the other room, and Steve reaches for the beat-up duffle bag by the foot of the bed. It’s already half full of clothing and supplies – he’s given up on the idea of settling between missions. There were times where he could, where he longed for it, but now he’s never in town for long enough that unpacking properly is worth it.

Still, two months is longer than any mission he’s been assigned in a long time, and Steve packs accordingly. He grabs an old, well-read novel from the bookshelf – a gift from Bucky, bought at a flea market simply because it reminded him of Steve. Now, that memory is twice as precious as the book itself, even though it’s Steve’s favorite.

He doesn’t bring anything else from the shelves – in the inner breast of his jacket, there is a picture that never leaves. That will have to do.

*

Ubilam, Fury’s best bet, lies to the north-east of Steve’s country, almost pushed up against the border of Wakanda. Steve takes a series of locomotives, the mountains hindering the tracks so much that the journey takes three days. He sleeps in quiet houses by the road, a bed for a night in exchange for money or labor, often in the form of wood chopping, now that winter is on its way.

The town of Ubilam isn’t particularly big, he finds out when he arrives, which means word will spread if Steve starts asking questions. The hour is already late, so he only gets a cursory overview of the outskirts of Ubilam before heading into town in search of a bed for the night.

*

There are a fair few people inhabiting the forest surrounding Ubilam, Steve discovers with surprise the next day. Downtrodden paths lead on from one house to the next, and Steve stays on it, taking care to walk like he’s just enjoying a day amidst the trees.

He wishes there were some higher ground nearby, some vantage point to give him an overview, but the slowly sloping terrain is so covered by trees that there would be no point, even if there were one.

Steve walks for a day, following the path deeper into the woods. He makes quick stops for bodily necessities, but not much else. His thoughts are taken over by the narrow-minded focus he gets during missions, and it’s as much of a relief as always.

Eventually, the path starts to fade, disuse rendering it almost indistinguishable from the root-covered forest floor, and Steve considers turning back to Ubilam – he’s been walking in circles, so a straight run should have him back in town in a handful of hours – before something tells him, _wait_. That second to last house he passed – something’s off. He backtracks to consider it. It’s mostly the same size as all the others in the area, and the chimney is letting out a steady stream of smoke. It’s colder here, Steve had been sure to pack and dress with that in mind, but there are darker spots in the gray smoke, almost imperceptible.

Alchemist’s smoke. Steve’s seen it before, over open fire, and the similarity is unmistakable.

He goes to knock on the door.

The woman who opens it is not Anthony Stark, unless Stark has been experimenting with rare alchemy. Her black dress silhouettes her figure modestly, but cleanly. “Good day, ma’am,” Steve says, and gives her a slight smile.

Her eyes linger on his chest for a second before she drags them up to meet his. “Good evening, rather,” she replies, returning the smile.

“Indeed.” Steve moves a little so he fills more of the doorframe. “I was wondering whether you knew anything about the whereabouts of Anthony Stark.”

The skin around her eyes tightens and she glances almost imperceptibly to her left, before opening her mouth to say smoothly, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what—“

“Oh, Pep, don’t bother,” a voice says from within the room, “he’s clearly already made us.” The speaker appears beside the woman, wearing a white shirt and pants meant for higher society, dragging a dirty, worn rag over his knuckles. His blue eyes look warmer than they did in the photograph, even as they regard Steve with distrust from beneath a shock of black hair. “What was it, the garbage? Because I’ve been telling those guys to even it up, but they won’t listen.”

“It was the smoke,” Steve says. The rag stays in one hand as Stark snaps his fingers with the other.

“Of _course_ , the smoke. See, I told Rhodey ages ago someone was going to pick up on that, and it took four years, but I was _right_ , Pep.” He looks at her proudly.

“Tony,” the woman chimes in, chastising.

“Oh, right. Who are you? What do you want?” He turns back to Steve, blue eyes intent.

“My name is Captain Steve Rogers,” Steve says, “and I’m here on behalf of Nick Fury.”

“Captain, huh?” Stark makes a show of looking out behind Steve, the slight but perceptible height difference making him strain slightly upwards. “Where’s the rest?”

“They’re not here,” Steve replies tersely. Stark stops, and gazes at him for a long moment.

“Miss Potts,” he says, “please leave us. Captain Rogers, I think you’d better come inside.”

*

The house is bigger than it appeared from the outside, with a spacious living room and kitchen, and a hallway leading to what Steve assumes are the bedrooms. Stark walks to the kitchen counter and pours a dark red liquid into two glasses. He sets them both down at the dinner table and wordlessly offers Steve the seat opposite his own.

“So,” Stark says once they’re seated. “Tell me, what does Nick Fury want now?”

“What is this?” Steve holds up his glass.

Stark waves a hand. “A personal innovation – it’s good, don’t worry about it.”

Steve frowns a little, but takes a small sip as a gesture of trust. Stark looks pleased, and he was right – it is good. He takes another swig. “The military suspects Latveria is gearing up to attack us,” he tells Stark. “We want you on our side when that happens. Fury believes you to be a tremendous asset to the chem div, and—“

“Asset,” Stark repeats slowly, tasting the word. He drinks from his glass, and licks his lips after, a slight sheen lingering. “I never liked that word.” He looks at Steve.

Steve stays quiet, meeting Stark’s eyes, and eventually Stark coughs.

“Say, Captain Rogers, what do you think? Fury hasn’t changed a bit, I can tell from your words, and there used to be a time when I knew old Nick better than his wife – saw more of him, anyway, since he never left the damn base,” Stark shakes his head. “Tell me why you think I should come back.”

His tone is almost playful, but his eyes, still on Steve’s, are dead serious.

Steve takes a breath and slowly exhales. “If war does break out,” he says, “and your involvement in it could stop it faster, it’s your duty to do what you can to make that happen.”

“I’m not a big fan of people telling me what to do,” Stark replies with a half-smile, “but it’s rarely in the name of duty.”

“It’s your duty as a human being to stop people being killed,” Steve says, and Stark gives him a smile completely absent of humor.

“You know, I think so too.” A silence follows that statement, and Stark leans back in his chair, regards Steve from the top of his nearly empty glass. His eyes, dark with something Steve can’t name, flit down to Steve’s own glass. “I’ll come back,” he announces, quick and sharp like stone striking stone, “and dance to Fury’s fife – but,” he adds, seeing Steve’s flabbergasted expression, which he quickly tries to school into something more professional, “I have one condition. You, Captain, stay in this house for thirty days and thirty nights.”

Steve tenses, even before he properly registers what’s being demanded of him. “What?” he croaks, swallowing to get his voice under control.

Anthony doesn’t say anything, still leaning back with his white shirt a stark contrast to his olive skin, looking at Steve like he’s got a hint of devil in him.

Anything for the operation, Fury would say, and Steve shouldn’t even hesitate – instead, his mind skids to the bookshelves he’s so tired of walking past, the emotion in Stark’s eyes he still can’t put words to.

Steve says, “Yes.”

*

Stark excuses himself not long after, and the woman he called Pep returns, taking both their glasses over to the kitchen sink and turning the water on.

“Are you staying?” she asks, when Steve slowly sheds his jacket and sits back down.

“I – yes,” he replies, his voice growing more certain.

The woman gives him a look over her shoulder and hums in surprise, dripping drops of potion from the counter into the water. “Okay,” she says evenly. “I’ll show you the guest room in a minute. My name’s Pepper Potts. Did Tony tell you where he went?”

“No,” Steve says, and Potts’s hum is more chiding this time.

Once the glasses are clean and her hands are dry, Potts leads Steve to the guest room adjacent to the living room. It’s impersonal, the only furniture a bed and a wooden dresser. In some ways, it reminds Steve of his room back home, but the window giving a picturesque view of the woods and the flowers standing in blue-tinted water on the dresser serve as a blunt reminder of where he is.

The trees outside swallow the remaining evening light in a matter of minutes, and Steve is left in an unfamiliar room, blanketed by darkness.

There is incredible comfort in that.

*

The next morning, Steve is woken by bird chitter, a pleasant change from the scrambling early-rise wagons back home. The house is quiet, but not chillingly so. For a long, slow moment, Steve considers leaving. In the warming morning light, the conversation yesterday seems almost surreal, vaguely unnatural in its flow. His late-night reasoning feels elusive, as though he’s considering it through a kaleidoscope now, but he comes to the same conclusion; he’s done much worse to see a mission through, after all.

A door creaks, and Potts appears around the corner, looking sleep-smudged with her hair in a rough bun. “Oh,” she lets out when she catches sight of Steve sitting by the dinner table. “You’re – up,” she finishes.

“Yes,” Steve says.

Potts nods, and gives him a strained smile. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“If it’s not any trouble.”

“It’s not, I’ll be making some for Tony and myself, anyway.”

An awkward quiet descends as Potts busies herself by the kitchen counter and Steve watches from the table.

“I don’t know what Tony told you,” she says eventually, back to Steve, “but you can leave.” She turns towards him after cracking five eggs into the sizzling pan. “Anytime, really. Tony has no grounds to keep you here.”

“I know,” Steve says, and this time, Potts’s smile is much more genuine.

*

Stark doesn’t surface at all the first day. He stays locked up in his study, which is completely still every time Steve passes. He’s never heard of an alchemist who works quietly before, but he supposes Stark is considered one of the best – maybe they play by different rules than the war chems Steve used to know.

Potts keeps him company for a little while, but she has errands to run in town. He considers accompanying her, wanting to see the town, but he’s not sure he would return – he decides to give it a day.

*

The second day passes much like the first. Steve ventures into the woods, familiarizing himself with the local area. He also spends a lot of time thinking.

What is Stark hoping to accomplish with Steve’s stay? He has not made any duties clear, no further demands of Steve. He can’t think Steve would be beneficial to his work, except as someone to experiment on, and Steve will just have to say no thank you if that is the case. Once is enough.

The complete lack of interaction is throwing Steve off, because if he were Stark, he’d use this opportunity to advocate for his point of view. Regardless of his identity, that is what Steve plans on doing, and with Stark always a keeping a locked door between the two of them, it’s proving rather difficult.

Steve stops at a boulder to sit down. Fury’s file didn’t divulge a lot of information about Stark’s way of thinking, focusing instead on what was known about his past – most of his work with the military was classified beyond Steve’s security level, but it revealed enough for Steve to get an idea of what his function was. Sadly, the folder includes no code to decipher his current behavior. Steve tries viewing it in light of his childhood, tries decrypting their only conversation for clues, but it proves fruitless. Instead, his mind lingers on Stark’s eyes, the way he said “Captain.”

A bird chirps loudly above him and Steve startles, jerked out of his reverie.  The birds announce a light drizzle moments before it hits him, and he quickly makes his way back to the house.

*

Just as Steve is filling his plate with rice, a door in the hallway opens with a bang. “Pepper,” Stark shouts, entering the living room a few seconds later, “I smell dinner – oh, hi, Captain.”

“Tony,” Potts says hesitantly. “I didn’t know whether you wanted any.”

“So I’m noticing, Pep, where’s the faith? Honestly.” Stark grabs a porcelain plate from a cupboard and sits down, giving them both a wide smile. “So. How’s it going?”

“I asked for gremlin’s root around town, but no one had any in stock – Myrcel said she could ask her son once he returned,” Potts says.

“Damn,” Stark says, helping himself liberally to the food. “No, just forget it, it’ll be too late by then. I’ll have to find a substitute…”

“What are you working on?” Steve asks, trying to find out if Stark’s work is an acceptable topic of conversation.

“None of your business,” Stark replies, giving him a grin with teeth.

“ _Tony_ ,” Potts says sharply, “be civil.”

“Okay, Captain, I’m sorry,” Stark says without a hint of remorse.

“It’s fine,” Steve mutters, feeling supremely uncomfortable. He’d walk away from the table, but his plate is still full and his manners absolutely forbid him to leave without offering to clean up – Potts, after all, has done no wrong.

Stark regards him for a minute, then says, “I’m working on a new grease for the imported locomotives.”

“Oh,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows incrementally. “That sounds interesting.”

“It is, actually,” Stark says, waving his fork for effect. Potts looks between them with wary eyes. “My basis is veer fluid, which is a main component in zeppelin maintenance because of the weak levitation properties…” He explains his latest innovation, gesticulating broadly and becoming more animated than Steve has seen him so far, and by the end of it, Steve is forced to admit that is does seem pretty clever.

Stark looks pleasantly surprised when Steve says so, asking questions and comparing his work to other alchemists Steve has heard of. “I knew you couldn’t be all brawn, Captain,” he jokes.

“Please,” Steve says amicably, “call me Steve.”

Stark’s eyes light up. “Tony,” he says.

They continue chatting, subject changing every so often. At one point, Steve turns to Potts, only to find her and her plate gone. Stark spots his look and waves a hand. “Pepper is really into this book she’s reading, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He’s noticed Potts curled up with a book throughout the day, but he’s surprised Stark has. “What were you saying about Wakandan rainstorms?”

“Wakanda is underrated,” Stark begins again, and Steve listens.

Their conversation finally peters out a while later, and when Stark smiles at Steve, it’s stiff. “Well, I’d better get back to my chems,” he says.

“Oh, okay,” Steve says, reminding himself he has no reason to feel disappointed. “Well, good night?”

“Good night,” Stark replies easily, and disappears in a hurry down the wall.

Steve is left in a state of vague confusion with the dirty pots and pans from dinner.

*

Stark – or Tony, now – starts joining them for dinner, even though he remains elusive for the rest of the day. Steve asks Potts about it once, and gets an odd smile in return. “Workaholics, you know how they are.”

Their meals together are surprisingly pleasant, but Steve quickly learns to steer clear of anything related to the military, Fury, or Latveria. Tony acts more reserved and withdrawn than he did that first evening, and a pattern starts to emerge – Tony and Pepper pass the time bantering effortlessly, while Steve offers up the occasional comment. It marks him as an outsider, but he supposes that is partly the point. He has come no further in understanding why Tony wants him here, or convincing him to rejoin Fury’s chem div.

Good thing he’s patient.

*

 

*

However, all patience eventually reaches its limit and after five torturously slow days, Steve asks Pepper if there’s anything that needs done around the house.

“You have ample firewood,” Steve starts, “but if there’s anything else, manual labor or not, I would gladly help out.”

“Oh no, no, don’t concern yourself with that,” Pepper assures him. “Tony can hire someone, or he can do it himself. Don’t worry about it.”

“Pepper,” Steve says slowly, and she nods encouragingly. “I _really_ need something to do.”

“Oh,” she says, and brightens with an idea. “Come along.”

She leads him out into the hallway, until they are standing in front of Tony’s study. She knocks loudly, and whispers to Steve, “he might be a minute.”

Sure enough, after a while Tony opens the door with a yank, his hair pointing in every direction and spots of soot on his face – one on his cheek, and another at the tip of his nose.

“What is it?” He asks shortly, sizing them up as though they’re unpredictable animals, just waiting to pounce on his work.

Pepper pushes Steve forward a little – or tries to, anyway. “Steve here is bored,” she says with a smile. “I thought you might have something to help.”

Tony glares at her, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “No,” he mutters.

“Yes,” she says.

“No,” he says, more loudly.

“ _Yes_.”

“Fine!” He throws his hands up. Steve hasn’t been living with them for long, but he already recognizes this pattern to their arguments – one part always gives up in exasperation at the other’s stubbornness. “If I can’t work and we go bankrupt, that’s on you. Just so you know.” He stalks back into the room, and Pepper gestures for Steve to follow.

“Are you sure?” he asks her.

“It’s fine,” she says dismissively. “He would’ve just closed the door on me if he wanted to.”

Once inside, Tony turns to Steve with a hint of dramatic flair. “I want to be clear – what I’m about to show you, Fury won’t hear about. Okay?”

“Tony,” Steve says reluctantly. They’d so far avoided verbally addressing Tony and Fury’s tug of war, with Tony preferring to challenge Steve’s loyalties indirectly – and while Steve hasn’t said anything, he finds it petty and dishonest, even as he’s growing to like Tony. “You know I can’t promise that.”

“Fine,” Tony says again. “But don’t touch my work, don’t ask about my work, and don’t stare at my work, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve replies, and he takes Tony’s proffered hand, a rare moment of contact between them. When Tony pulls away Steve looks around surreptitiously, surprised by the small, neat room Tony’s study turned out to be. There are a handful of chems visible, but not enough to do alchemy work.

“Step back,” Tony instructs, and Steve does, wondering how this ties into his restlessness. Is it some kind of task for him?

Tony presses his palm into the wall and it transforms, two wooden doors folding out to meet them, shedding light on the stairwell beyond it.

Steve takes it in silently, and when Tony leads him by the arm into the unknown, he follows.

The stairwell is long and winding, lit only by glowing chem paths running through the rough stone walls, resembling striped rock. Red, purple, blue, green and yellow, the chems changing colors give the stairs an eerie feeling. “I made that,” Tony explains once he notices Steve’s fascination with the play of colors. “It’s self-sustaining and requires no electrical or steam engine input.”

“It looks amazing,” Steve breathes, his fingers itching for paper and dyes. He wants to recreate it, and the ferocity of that want is stronger than any emotion he’s felt in a long time.

Tony shrugs, but he’s smiling. “It’s okay.” His eyes go through a myriad of hues as the light shifts.

They’ve stopped, Steve abruptly notices, and the stairs are barely wide enough to accommodate them as they’re standing now, side by side and facing each other. Tony’s hand is still on his arm, but he removes it when he sees Steve looking.

“Let’s keep going,” Tony says quickly.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees.

Steve is sad to see the end of the chem paths as they reach the last of the steps – or so he thinks. The great hall they step into is just that, a great hall – and on the ceiling, which must be fifteen meters above them, churns a giant pane of chems, brightening the entire hall. From their vantage point at the entrance, Steve can see that the floor is divided into four sections, centered around what must be Tony’s workplace. He can see a library, a department of mannequins for chem testing, an impressive number of deconstructed steam engines, and a kitchen equipped with bare necessities and some very comfortable-looking furniture.

“Wow,” Steve says faintly, and Tony’s grin is sharp and proud.

“I know. Go ahead, knock yourself out – you quoted Esther LeGuine at the dinner-table the other day, so I’m assuming you know how to work a library.” Steve knows him well enough not to be offended, but Tony still gives him a friendly push to make up for it.

“I can see why you spend all your time here,” he says, and Tony nods.

“Well, now that Pepper has given you her stamp of approval, you’re welcome to do that, too,” he says. “She has friends in town that sometimes visit, and I don’t see how she’d explain your presence.”

His tone is oddly bitter, and Steve tries to lighten the mood. “I’ve been told I make a very believable body guard,” he says, “or kept man.”

Tony’s hearty laugh rings out into the hall.

*

Tony doesn’t immediately go back to his work, even though Steve can hear it bubbling merrily when they pass. Instead, he gives him a quick tour of the hall. The quins are the section they enter first, and Steve finds them fascinating. Some of them look almost human, still waiting to be defiled, while others are misshapen and grotesque. “Chems don’t always behave like they’re supposed to,” Tony tells Steve as they walk among the quins. “Alchemy transcends our logic and math, which is why it’s so damn hard – you just have to _know_.”

“Like magic?” Steve asks.

Tony shakes his head. “Eugh, no. Something that makes more sense – to me at least, but I can’t properly explain it.”

“What makes stuff like this happen, then, if it makes sense to you?” Steve gestures to the disfigured quins.

“It was meant to,” Tony says shortly, and they move on.

The library is cozy and almost claustrophobic, filled to the brim with dusty tomes. The shelves are stacked as high as Steve can see, and walking between them is proving a tight fit, thanks to the ladders placed every few meters for access to the higher levels.

“It’s mostly academic texts, but there should be some fiction in here, too,” Tony says. “There’s a system, don’t worry.”

“I believe you,” Steve replies, eyes searching every shelf in sight for a familiar title.

The library ends abruptly, and they come to five work benches, each one almost entirely covered in machine parts. “What are you making?” Steve asks, unsure if Tony considers this his work. He gets a good look anyway, preparing for the possibility.

“Everything,” Tony says with relish. “Machinery has so much more to offer than how we’re using it now. Imagine, if you can, something that could do your calculations for you. Or something that could produce replicas of the same document at the wave of a hand. Hell, talking suits of armor!"

“So, like magic?” Steve says again, smiling slightly.

“ _No_ , not like magic. Something more reliable.” Tony wanders to the tiny stove in the kitchen and turns to Steve with a grin. “Steam.”

“Ambitious,” Steve notes.

“My middle name,” Tony drawls. “Well, this is my humble abode. I’m gonna go back to work, feel free to nose around in the library. Got a few of my own titles there, too, but they’re pretty deep into chem theory.” He looks at Steve doubtfully. “Might be too advanced for you.”

“Well, at least I can boil a potato,” Steve reminds him, referring to an incident a few days ago when Pepper had left dinner in Steve and Tony’s hands. In retrospect, not the best decision, although Steve managed to get something edible on the table.

Tony gasps. “The audacity! Why, Captain, I’ll have you know that us _intellectuals_ save mind space for things that are useful.”

“Eating isn’t useful?” Steve replies dryly, and Tony concedes with a smile and a shrug.

“I’ll be fine as long as I have you or Pepper, won’t I?” he says, and goes to his chem stands. Steve watches him go – he’s freer down here, more like he was during that first dinner together. Steve is pleased to see it.

*

Steve’s found a book and settled into a comfortable chair tucked away against a wall when the noise comes, loud and startling. “What the hell?” he exclaims, jumping to his feet, _Don Quixote_ falling to the floor.

“Sorry!” Tony shouts, his head appearing from behind a bookshelf. “That’s Pepper. I can get a little absorbed in my work, and she hates having to come and fetch me.”

“Sounds like a zep alarm,” Steve mutters. They start their ascent, and Steve can’t help but be charmed by the lights. “It’s a bit of a climb,” he agrees, “but it’s quite the sight.” The colors aren’t as distracting now as they were when descending, but Steve still takes time to appreciate the esthetics.

“Pepper’s not as impressed with me as I’d like her to be,” Tony admits ruefully, back to Steve. “She’s put up with enough of my blunders to know better.”

Steve, sensing Tony wouldn’t appreciate a comment, remains silent, and they go up to eat.

*

Steve starts spending his days down there, enchanted by stimulating literature and Tony’s company. Tony’s occasional comments about his work are amusing, and he sometimes requires Steve’s presence – mostly his strength, to lift one of his motors or keep them steady, but he clearly also likes having another mind to bounce ideas off of.

True to Tony’s word, Pepper doesn’t often make an appearance, although she doesn’t seem to mind it at all – indeed, the house is often completely empty around noon, and stays that way until they gather for dinner in the evening.

Steve’s working his way through a book about chem origins when he hears the faint rustling of clothes by his ear. A slight smile growing on his lips, he doesn’t react until Tony gives up waiting and pokes him with a wrench. “What do you want,” he asks, the very picture of serenity as he turns another page.

“Talk to me,” Tony demands. “Entertain me.”

“I’ll just find my skirt and pompons, shall I,” Steve replies, not taking his eyes off the page.

“Please do,” Tony says with such relish that Steve visibly loses his footing in the conversation, putting his foot down. Tony laughs heartily, and over his shoulder, Steve can see a figure appear at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Hello, boys,” Pepper says, smiling brightly at them both as she steps over.

“Pepper!” Tony exclaims with joy, turning around. “What are you doing down here, Pepperpot?”

“I was in town today, and Maria showed me this game,” Pepper says, brandishing a wooden box and shaking it a little so it makes a faint sound. “How about it?”

“Oh, perfect,” Tony says. “We haven’t played anything since Steve got here.”

“We’ll have to do it upstairs though,” Pepper continues. “The sun’s not down yet, and I hate to miss the sunset.”

“Sure,” Tony says agreeably. “What about you, Steve? In?”

“I’m – uh, okay,” he says, looking between them.

“Great!”

*

“The rules are like this,” Pepper starts, explaining the use of each piece as she unpacks the game from the wooden box. There are small glass pebbles, brushed completely smooth, and they are to be moved from circle to circle. It’s not a difficult concept, Steve’s come across something similar before, but he lets Pepper finish her demonstration.

The sun is hanging low, threatening to dip beyond the horizon any minute, and the sky is already pinkening. Tony produces a bottle of wine, generously filling their three goblets, and Steve laughs when his insistence that they all try the wine distracts him and makes him lose to Pepper. She collects his pieces with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at Steve over her victory wine. “Are you brave enough to challenge the resident champion?” she asks.

“Courage or stupidity,” Steve says. “One of the two.” Tony cheers, and Pepper laughs.

The evening passes in a haze of easy conversation, laughter and wine. They stop playing to watch the sun set, and never get back to it – Pepper tells a story about her friend Maria, who once woke up to an intruder in her house and beat him with a loaf of bread.

“How did it not crumble,” Steve wonders, while Tony keeps laughing.

“She took it from the freezer,” Pepper says, and then they’re all laughing.

*

While the basement is beautifully lit, Steve still misses natural sunlight. He’s wary of mentioning it to Tony, unsure whether he would tell Steve to go upstairs or find a way to create natural light down here – thereby blowing something up – but it turns out he doesn’t have to. Tony sees it on him.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Tony suggests out of the blue. “My chems are distilling, the book you’re reading doesn’t end the way it should – let’s go.”

Steve lowers his book with a frown. He’d been enjoying it so far. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! You look pale, man.” Tony gets up and gestures to Steve impatiently, who puts his book down with a shrug and follows.

The sun is high in the sky when they emerge from the shade of the house. “It’s cold,” Tony comments, pulling his coat tighter around him. “I didn’t know it was this cold.”

“It was your idea,” Steve reminds him, “no turning back now.”

They follow a path deeper into the woods behind the house, one Steve barely noticed when he first walked here. Tony leads with practiced ease, despite the fact that Steve thinks this is the first time he’s seen him outside. “You’ve lived here a long time,” Steve notes, when Tony casually turns over a rock they pass.

“Since I left,” he nods. “I used to walk this path every day I could, to measure my progress.”

“Progress?” Steve asks. Tony laughs humorlessly.

“I guess that’s classified,” he says. “But you should know – one doesn’t leave the army without a few cuts and bruises, Captain.”

“Steve,” Steve says. “Don’t blame me for injustices I had nothing to do with, Tony.”

Tony looks at him. “I won’t,” he says, and falls silent for a beat before continuing. “I’m surprised, I never would’ve thought you capable of admitting to the army’s – what did you call it – injustices.”

“You’ve got to see the world as it is,” Steve says. “Any organization like that is bound to end up with a few faulty moral compasses – people who value power above doing the right thing.”

Tony’s gaze is sharp. “It is,” he says. “Listen, Steve, I am going to be completely honest with you. Nothing is going to convince me to come back to the army, and if that’s why you’re here, you might as well leave.”

“So I’ve realized,” Steve says. “I just want to know the full story, damn ‘classified’ – so I’m asking again. What did you mean, progress?”

Tony hesitates, looking over at Steve as they walk. “I was injured,” he says at last, “pretty badly. I couldn’t walk right – couldn’t walk at all, sometimes. That’s why I first needed Pepper. And I’d walk this path to regain my strength.”

“A tough choice,” Steve says, because it is – the path is littered with roots and loose rocks, and the terrain is a steady, demanding uphill.

“Yeah, well,” Tony laughs a little. “I’m not exactly known for doing it the easy way.”

Steve smiles, and they walk back in relative silence.

*

The sun passing over the Wakandan mountains in the middle of the day is unlike anything Steve has ever seen, and one day he grabs an inkwell, a feather pen and some paper from Tony to put the view on paper. He sits on the porch, sketching, when Pepper comes out of the house.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking over his shoulder. “Wow, that’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he says, embarrassed, and obscures her view.

“Listen, there’s something I want you to know about Tony,” she says, sitting down beside him. “He likes being his own manager, you’ve noticed. He doesn’t like leaving things up to other people because people are unpredictable, and they…” She hesitates. “They might not do what he wants. It’s led him to some really bad decisions in the past.”

Steve is stunned. He’s never heard Pepper speak of Tony like this, and it doesn’t seem like her to badmouth a friend. She sees his look, and her speech gets more rushed.

“It’s ridiculous, because he would explode if someone did that to him. He hates the idea of someone else controlling any part of his behavior, it’s part of why he couldn’t stay with Fury. So I’m not saying that one should let it slide, I just want you to remember that while he sometimes forgets that people can make decisions on their own, he means well. He always does.”

“Pepper,” Steve starts, but he doesn’t know how to continue. He’s noticed some aspects of the behavior Pepper is describing, but he doesn’t understand what she’s trying to prove – truthfully, the whole thing leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says, getting up. “I just want you to remember that.”

“I will,” Steve says slowly, brow furrowed as his gaze follows her back into the house.

*

“What was Fury like, when you worked with him?” It’s a frank question, and it disregards every implicit agreement they have, but Steve’s spent fifteen days in this house now, and he has learned that Tony values brashness and honesty, however much pleasure he may take in wrapping his own thoughts in mysteries.

Tony puts down the engine parts in his hands silently, resting his hands on them for a long moment before he returns to his work. Finally, he says, “most damn hard-working man I’ve met in my life.”

“That must be a compliment, coming from you,” Steve says, and Tony gives him a dark look over his shoulder.

“Very funny.”

“I thought so,” Steve says, smiling, hoping to defuse some of the tension thickening the air.

Tony is silent another moment, turning back. “He did work hard, harder than most, ambitious to a fault. Truth be told, he was working way below his potential, but he was too rude to the Council for them to ever consider him. Old soldiers, you know how they are.” The jab is weak, and Steve only shrugs.

“He hasn’t changed much,” he says, and Tony raises a finger in the air.

“Surprise of the century. Anyway, he had to rely on hard work and dedication to get where he wanted to go, and it didn’t teach him any manners in the process. Funny man, though. Hell of a right hook.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Not as well as I thought I did,” Tony says, locking a part into place with a loud _snap_. It signifies the end of Tony’s willingness to share, but Steve takes it in stride.

*

There’s an unfamiliar man waiting on the porch when Steve and Tony return from another walk in the woods, and Tony positively lights up at the sight of him.

“Rhodey! Hey!” Tony runs over, and they exchange a one-armed hug. “It’s been a while, how’re the zeps treating you?”

“They’re staying in the sky,” the man says, “can’t ask for more.”

“Moving to your every whim too, I’d wager,” Tony says with glee. “Steve, this is zeppelin pilot extraordinaire, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes. Jim, this is Captain Steve Rogers.”

“Nice to meet you,” Rhodes says, shaking Steve’s hand. He looks over at Tony with raised eyebrows, but Tony doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Well, Rhodey, come in, come in – Pepper should be around, although you never know these days –“

“She’s inside,” Rhodes interrupts. “I met her in town, so we walked together.”

“Oh, good,” Tony says, smiling broadly. They move inside the house, and Tony shouts for Pepper, complaining that she didn’t tell him Rhodey was going to visit.

“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to meet an army man here,” Rhodes comments quietly, looking over at Steve.

“Neither would I,” Steve replies truthfully.

“Hm,” Rhodes says. “Fury send you?”

Steve nods.

“Tony know?”

Steve nods again. “Yes,” he says.

“Alright then,” Rhodes says, and he doesn’t mention it again when Tony rejoins them.

*

Rhodes stays for dinner and a drink, and Tony tries to out-do himself at every turn, his stories turning more and more outrageous every time he fills his glass. Rhodes’s laugh has a helpless edge to it – Steve suspects his own does, too – and Rhodes looks resigned, but fond as he listens to Tony’s antics.

Finally, after being roped into telling a few stories himself, Rhodes says he has to get back to town.

“Stay the night,” Tony suggests with fervor, but Rhodes is already shaking his head.

“The ’motive leaves early tomorrow, I won’t make it. And I don’t want to make it with a pounding headache, I know you.”

“Okay,” Tony says sullenly, and Rhodes punches his shoulder.

“Don’t be like that, Tones, I’ll be back before you know it.” Tony lets up with a grumble, and they bump their shoulders amicably. “It was nice meeting you, Captain,” Rhodes says, stopping in the doorway.

“Likewise,” Steve replies, bowing slightly – it might be because of the alcohol, but he’s quick to say it’s his manners.

“Pepper. Tony,” Rhodes nods, and is out the door. Tony locks it after him and turns to the other two with a smile.

“So,” he says, “up for another? Pepper?”

She shakes her head. “It’s late, and I’m meeting Maria early tomorrow.”

Tony sighs exaggeratedly. “You and Rhodey, no sense of adventure,” he says, and Pepper gives him a raised eyebrow. “Steve, you’re my last hope. Come on.”

“I don’t know,” Steve starts hesitantly.

“I’m just talking about a night cap, nothing that would hurt,” Tony says, giving Steve a pleading look.

“Fine,” he sighs. Tony’s grin is wide.

“Excellent!” He sits back down on the couch carelessly, and pours them each half a glass from the bottle still sitting on the table. He hands one glass to Steve when he sits down and clinks their glasses together, winking at Steve. “Good night, Pepper,” he says over his shoulder, and Pepper’s reply is faint as she vanishes down the hallway. When he turns back, he has a glint in his eye. “Race you,” he tells Steve, and throws his drink back.

Maybe it’s the amount Steve’s already had, or the long line of Tony’s neck illuminated by paraffin, but he takes the challenge, and soon enough they’ve finished all the alcohol in the immediate vicinity. Tony gives him a smile over the last of his drink, then a shadow passes over his face. “Damn Rhodey,” he says sadly, and burps. Steve lifts his head a little from where it’s been resting on the couch in a show of support.

“Yeah,” he says. “Are you alright?”

Tony frowns. “Why bein’ I wouldn’t? Uh, why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve shrugs. “Just looked a bit upset, is all.”

“I’m not,” Tony says fiercely, the severity of his tone somewhat lessened when he gets distracted by the flickering figures the light leaves behind on the walls. “Rhodey’s complicated, anyway.”

“Complicated?” Steve repeats, over-enunciating the word.

“Yeah, what with the,” Tony waves a hand, “the military, and all that. It’s just no good.”

“I’m military,” Steve points out. Tony snorts.

“I know. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Not only,” Steve says, and watches Tony’s eyes. They close, and Tony opens them slowly, looking at Steve. There’s a sadness in them Steve wasn’t expecting, and a bitter smile grows on Tony’s lips.

“I know,” he says. Steve feels like he’s fallen into a different conversation. Tony sips the last of his drink with leisure, letting the moment pass. “Pepper’s looking for a house in town. You’ll be gone in ten days, and Rhodey’s searching the skies – some wild goose chase the military’s sent him on.” His head lolls back. “Fun.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve says. “You don’t know that I’ll leave.”

“Yes,” Tony says seriously. “I do.”

Steve makes a frustrated noise and moves closer to Tony, guiding the hand holding his glass down to the table. “You act like you’re some kind of monster. Locking yourself in this house, self-imprisoned because of some paranoid delusion.” The long words jumble in Steve’s throat, but he has a _point_ , and that gives him steady ground. “You’re not so bad, Tony.”

“Stop,” Tony says, trying to move away, but Steve captures his wrist and holds him there, forcing his face towards Steve.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking deep into Tony’s eyes, “don’t brush me off like you do Pepper, or Rhodes – I saw him talking to you earlier.”

“That’s none of your business,” Tony says angrily, and Steve concedes with a nod.

“It’s not,” he agrees, and kisses Tony anyway. Tony moves away a little, surprised, then falls back into the kiss, tasting of alcohol and sweets.

“Are you sure?” Tony leans back to ask him, and Steve nods, repeats _yes_ until Tony takes the hint and kisses him again, his hands steady on Steve’s shoulders.

They wrap into each other on the sofa, pulled closer by quick hands and desire, and the intensity builds like a physical being between them until it slowly unwinds – the brushing of lips turns lazy and comfortable, and Steve almost doesn’t notice Tony slumping over him until he hears the faint snore from where his head is pillowed on Steve’s shoulder.

He falls asleep, too, with the image of paraffin light dancing over Tony’s back, his white linen shirt untucked and rucked up, and his own hand resting lightly on the warm skin.

*

Steve awakens slowly, groaning at the weight his head has acquired throughout the night. Above him, Tony shifts, stretching from the cramped position he’s had all night. Their eyes meet, still bleary with sleep, and Steve smiles at him before Tony can say anything and voice the growing panic on his face. “Hey,” Steve says quietly.

“Steve,” Tony breathes, eyes wide before he forgets himself and grins, sharp and wide.

Steve leans forward to kiss the smile off his face, but Tony stops him with a hand on his chest. “Hold on,” he says, and stumbles to the bathroom, returning with two glasses of water. “Drink this.”

Steve does, and it is definitely _not_ water – he coughs in surprise and looks at Tony.

“Mouth cleanse,” he explains, somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says, and drinks the rest. There’s an awkward silence as Tony stands over him, clearly unsure about returning to his previous position. Steve sits up straighter and gestures for Tony to sit down beside him.

“Good morning.”

Tony chuckles as he sits down, and Steve kisses him again, laughing at the small sound Tony makes.

“Tony, are you – “ Pepper stops in the hallway, and Tony pulls back quick as lightning, not looking at Steve. Pepper gives Tony a look that’s almost accusatory, and when her gaze finally shifts to Steve, she just looks sympathetic and a little sad. “Okay,” she says. “Do you two want breakfast?”

“That’d be lovely,” Steve says, because Tony is still quiet beside him. “Hold on, I’ll help you.”

“Please, sit,” Pepper says, shaking her head. “My head hurts bad enough, I can’t imagine what yours are like.”

“Aren’t you going to see Maria?” Tony asks sharply. “You don’t have time to stay here.”

“I’ve already been out,” she replies curtly. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

Tony doesn’t reply.

A strange, uncomfortable atmosphere envelops the living room as Steve looks between the two of them. Pepper turns around to start making food, her hands quick and efficient as she cracks eggs over a soon to be sizzling pan. Tony, when he finally meets Steve’s eyes, smiles a subdued smile.

*

“Are you okay?” Steve asks once Pepper has left, and it’s just the two of them again. The pain in his head has abated, thankfully, aided by food and water. He’s sitting across from Tony, whose plate is still half full.

“I’m fine,” Tony says. “Just surprised.”

“Hm,” Steve agrees, finishing the last of his breakfast.

They pass the day quietly, and the night before becomes almost a dream to Steve, a fantasy borne out of alcohol and wishful thinking. Late in the evening, however, Tony finds him, an odd expression on his face.

“Come with me,” he says. Steve stands up from that hidden chair in the library and follows Tony over to the sofas. They both sit down, facing each other.

Tony seems to scrutinize Steve’s face, eyes narrowed, and Steve waits patiently for him to break the silence.

“I,” Tony starts, makes a frustrated noise and surges forward to kiss Steve hard, teeth clacking before Steve puts a hand on Tony’s neck, taking control of the kiss and slowing it down, calming it. When they finally separate Tony keeps his forehead pressed against Steve’s, eyes clenched shut before he gradually opens them, deep blue meeting Steve’s own.

He moves back slowly and reluctantly. “Damn ‘classified’,” he murmurs. “Okay.” He falls back with a sigh, clears his throat and begins. “When you first came here, you told me that Latveria is planning to attack us. Like that was going to be enough to drive me back. And, hell, maybe it should’ve, but –”  he takes a deep breath. “We’ve been at war with Latveria for a long while now.”

Steve’s surprise is loud in the silence, but Tony interrupts him before he can say anything. “Let me finish, please. Five years ago, I was on a visit to Latveria. I have – I used to know someone there, so my visit had nothing to do with the military. And one day I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work, couldn’t read, so I got up in the middle of the night to take a walk. After a while, I heard yelling, and a small, illuminated ball came rolling down the mountain, stopping at the rock I was standing on. A chem bomb. I couldn’t get away fast enough, and the damn thing exploded and took part of my leg with it. Still, lying there, all I could think was that I knew that smell.” Tony pauses, rubbing at his face. “I don’t know how much you know about chem theory, but due to their precarious nature, most alchemists develop a signature, whether they want to or not. I’m very good at what I do, and my signature is prominent. That chem bomb was definitely one of my own.”

He looks at Steve, who stays quiet, eyes wide and listening intently.

“I was brought home by those soldiers, and the army fixed up my leg as well as they could before I was told to forget what I’d seen, go back to work and keep my head down. I had some problems with that, as you might imagine.” A smile ghosts over his lips. “I started asking questions. Why were our soldiers on Latverian soil? Where were all the chems we were making _going_? Eventually, I was told I’d become a liability to the military if I didn’t shut up. I tried to tell Fury, but, well, he wouldn’t listen.

“Why –” Steve’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, continuing, “why haven’t I heard about any of this?”

“You were in Helvetia,” Tony replies. “Besides, it’s like you said. Classified. We’ve been attacking Latveria’s natural resources, forcing them to buy ours – and now that they’re retaliating, we’re denying everything.”

“That’s horrible!” Steve exclaims. Tony nods. “Did you explain everything to Fury? I can’t believe he wouldn’t back you up.”

“He wouldn’t hear me out, no one would.” Tony shrugs, palms spread. “I had no proof – I still don’t.”

Steve sits back, still a bit shell-shocked.

“So that’s why I wouldn’t come back,” Tony says lightly. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “For some reason, I do.”

Tony gives him a half-smile. “Sorry,” he says. “You wanted to know, right?”

“I did,” Steve agrees. “Thank you.” Fueled by the way Tony is rubbing his hands together, he leans forward and captures those hands in his own, releasing them from each other and enveloping Tony in a hug. Tony tenses, surprised, before melting into the unexpected embrace.

“A long time ago,” Steve says into Tony’s shoulder, “my first mission, we were in Yengarm. It failed, quickly, and we were captured by a man named Zola.”

Tony jerks a little.

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Heard of his experiments, met him once at a chemo meet.”

“We lost a few men, but managed to escape,” Steve says. “Got back, were stationed in Helvetia and told that we couldn’t go after Zola, because he had been granted immunity.” Steve consciously relaxes his hands, which had been balling into fists behind Tony’s back, the sense of betrayal still lingering. “I know the military can put their own interests before anyone else’s. So, yes. I believe you.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says sincerely.

“What’s done is done,” Steve replies, and the moment rests before they separate in a sudden bout of awkwardness. Steve remembers that less than a month ago, Anthony Stark was nothing more than a name in a file and a distant rumor. There’s almost a cognitive dissonance as Steve thinks back to his ideas about Tony then, the initial impression he made that first night. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” he says to breach the silence.

Tony nods. “I’m gonna – too, I need to finish up some things.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” Tony replies, already turning away.

Steve walks up the stairs, head heavy with thoughts.

*

The next morning, they’re back to acting as they were, midnight confessions hanging unacknowledged in the air between them.

Although it isn’t something he’s let himself dwell on, he would’ve imagined Tony to be an affectionate lover. Instead, he acts surprisingly withdrawn – not objecting to Steve’s advances, but rarely instigating anything himself. Steve can’t ask Pepper about it, since he still hasn’t made sense of her reaction the other day, and so mulls it over by himself.

He accompanies Pepper on a trip to town a few days after learning Tony’s story. The thirty days seem arbitrary now, what with there being only a few days remaining, and he really has no reason to stay here – his mission was made futile long ago. Well, no reason besides Tony.

As they enter the city he realizes that despite having spent almost a month here, he’s barely even visited Ubilam beyond his initial scouting. There’s been no point in establishing himself in the community, but if he’s even going to entertain the notion of staying, he should look into widening his group of acquaintances beyond two people. Then, at least, he could argue that he already knows more people here than he does back by his apartment.

It’s a sad argument.

“What do you think of Ubilam?” Steve asks Pepper as they walk the streets. It’s a quiet afternoon, although the atmosphere gives Steve the impression that Ubilam doesn’t get much busier than this.

“It’s quiet,” Pepper says, confirming it. She smiles at him. “It’s nice, though. I like it. I grew up in a town where everyone knew each other, and that always tired me out. Ubilam’s not that tightly knit, but it’s not so big it’s impersonal, either.”

“Tony told me you were looking for a house in town,” Steve replies, testing the waters. Pepper becomes visibly disconcerted, looking away.

“He told you that, did he?” She sighs. “The thing is – has he told you why he first hired me?”

Steve nods.

“Well, back then, he needed a lot of assistance. There was a period where I did everything, which I’m not complaining about – I’m very good at taking care of things. But now, well…” She looks over at him. “Tony doesn’t really need me around anywhere, and I’m restless, locked into this pretend employment where I just make his meals and keep the house somewhat tidy.” Her laughter is short and embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I asked,” Steve says. “He loves you.” He thinks of the dinners when he first arrived, the easy banter between the two of them. He thinks of the look on Tony’s face when he told him Pepper was leaving.

“I love him, too,” Pepper says, sobering up, “but it’s not healthy for us to stay in this outdated power dynamic. For a long time, he was all I had, and I’m trying to move away from that.”

Steve stays quiet, trying to form an adequate response.

“You don’t approve,” Pepper says, misinterpreting his silence. There’s an edge to her voice.

“No, I think you’re right,” Steve says. “But you’re all he has too, aren’t you?”

“He’s chosen to lock himself up in there,” Pepper says. “Besides,” she adds, her smile bitter, “he has you now, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, his voice growing more certain. “I guess he does.”

*

He doesn’t immediately talk to Tony about where they’re heading – he wants to let the dust settle, for them both to go into this with their eyes wide open.

Still, on the twenty-ninth day, he decides to at least hear what Tony thinks about it all.

They’re lying on the sofa in the basement, Tony pressed up against Steve’s side, when he broaches the subject.

“Twenty-nine days now,” he says. “It feels like longer, doesn’t it?” Next to him, Tony stiffens – not the desired reaction, but Steve’s already begun now. “Listen, I was wondering what you –”

“I have to tell you something,” Tony interrupts, getting up. “There is another reason I can’t go back to the military.” He walks over to his desk and stays by it, back to Steve. “I developed something else. Not a bomb, something more subtle. Far more dangerous, too.”

“What?” Steve asks.

“A potion,” Tony says. “One that will sway the mind, open it for suggestion. I designed it to make people realize what they, what the Council was – but it didn’t work like that. It made whoever drank it susceptible to other people’s will, regardless of their own sense and reason.” Tony turns to him, and his face is bleak, hands half-reaching before they snap back to his sides. “Steve, listen, I never meant, this wasn’t how I wanted to—“

“ _What_?” Steve says again, body on high alert.

The air goes out of Tony. “It looks like this,” he says, quiet and resigned, and moves away from the desk.

On the metal table, clearly lit under Tony’s working lamp, stands a glass cylinder with a clear red liquid. Steve looks at it, uncomprehending for a few second, until he abruptly and with horror realizes he knows how it tastes. “You—“

“ _I’m so sorry,_ ” Tony is saying, but Steve is already moving, up the stairs and out into the hallway, hurriedly stuffing his clothing into his duffle and putting it on his shoulder, passing a surprised Pepper who quickly realizes what has happened, and neither she nor Tony do anything to stop him before he’s outside, breathing in the smell of pine and cold, fresh air. Closing his eyes, Steve inhales deeply, letting it all escape his lungs before he opens them again. Securing his duffle on his shoulder, he’s about to start walking when one last, terrible thought almost knocks the breath out of him.

He enters the house again with controlled steps. Pepper is consoling Tony on the sofa in the living room, his cheek on her shoulder and his face hidden.

Pepper’s eyes widen as she sees him, and her grip on Tony tightens only to relax completely.

“Were there any other times?” Steve asks, carefully contained fury in his voice. “Tony. Were there any. Other. Times?”

“ _No_ ,” Tony says, standing up in a hurry. “No, Steve, I swear to you—”

“Good,” Steve says, and he nods at Pepper. “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Pepper. Goodbye.”

He leaves and does not look back.

*

 

*

He feels so monumentally, incredibly stupid.

The ’motive slows to a stop in the station, but the familiar façade doesn’t provide Steve with the relief he was hoping for. He makes his way off the train, people streaming on the platform around him, and hefts his bag higher on his shoulder before heading to Fury’s office.

He just wants all this done, wants his hands washed of the task so he can think about something else, something other than the taste of the red liquid going down his throat and the feel of Tony’s lips against his own. Tony had said there were no other instances, but he could be lying – the thought chills Steve. Other than that first night, there aren’t any decisions he can’t see the reasoning behind – hell, even that first night, he remembers what he thought, how he made up his mind. There are no gaps in his logic, but that strange sense of something akin to drunkenness still envelops the evening. The drink.

Steve’s hands fist, and he feels the sharp pain of his nails digging into his palms as he walks into the right building.

He enters Fury’s office without preamble, taking a seat opposite the man, who’s on the telephone with his legs on the desk.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, Romanov, Rogers just arrived.” Fury hangs up the phone, and fixes Steve with an expectant look. “Well?”

“Assignment failed, sir,” Steve says. “Stark won’t return.”

Fury sighs and puts his feet down. “I suppose it was a long shot. What took you so long?”

“You were right, sir. He was a hard nut to crack. I tried my best,” Steve says, although he hadn’t, had abandoned Fury’s cause quickly in pursuit of his own.

“Hm,” Fury says, drawing it out. “Did you find out why he left?”

“Pardon, sir?”

“I know you, Rogers. You seek answers, and you usually find them.” He shuffles a few papers on his desk before his one good eye finds one of Steve’s.

“But…” Steve hesitates. “Don’t _you_ know, sir?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?”

Steve frowns. “He – Stark told me he tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Tony told me maybe a tenth of what was going on,” Fury says, snorting. “And not exactly in plain words, either.”

“Huh,” Steve says. He retells Tony’s story, leaving out the potion out of some lingering sense of loyalty.

“And no proof?” Fury asks, once he’s finished.

Steve shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Well, damn.” Fury stubs out the cigarette he’s been smoking. “I’ll figure something out, maybe I’ll even pay Stark a visit myself. Was he hard to find?”

“Not very,” Steve admits, and Fury grumbles something about incompetence in the lower ranks.

“Leave me, I need to think.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, closing the door behind him.

*

His apartment seems emptier than ever when he returns to it. In a desperate search for some kind of solace, Steve roots around in his bag, looking for Bucky’s novel. His hand doesn’t find the hard, flat object amidst the clothes, so he empties the contents on the floor, spreading his stuff frantically to find the book.

It’s not there.

He must’ve forgotten it, and the weight of that realization makes him stumble. He’s _angry_ , angry at Tony and Pepper and Bucky and _Tony_ , and his fists are hurting, but the impact of beating them on the floor is sweeter than any release, and he brings them down again, and again, and again –

Eventually, he can open his eyes without seeing red. He swears, long and loud, and stays on his knees for a long time.

*

Days, weeks pass in some dull routine Steve never consciously created. Living in his lifeless apartment makes him angry – realizing he doesn’t know the name of the mailman, or his neighbors, makes him angry. Fury, who is adamant that he has no new assignments for Steve, makes him angry. The fact that this is what he left, and what he was always returning to, makes him angry.

He spends a lot of his time punching things.

One day, returning home, the hallway is blocked by a big, burly man with a cap and a large bag.

“Hello,” Steve says tiredly. The man turns to him, and Steve gets a better view of the uniform he’s wearing. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

“I’m Gary,” the man says, shaking Steve’s hand.

“Steve,” he replies. “Nice to meet you.”

“Rogers?” Gary asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, nonplussed.

“Hold on, you actually had something larger come in today. I couldn’t fit it in the box…” He rummages around in his bag before presenting Steve with a medium-sized package. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Steve says automatically, accepting it. It’s flat and hard.

“No problem,” Gary says cheerily, continuing down the hallway. “Take care!”

“Bye,” Steve mutters, thoughts already consumed by the object in his hands. He turns it over, feeling the familiar weight of it. Looking down both ends of the hallway, he enters his apartment.

He wastes no time unwrapping it, and the faded cover hits him like a punch in the gut, an overwhelming feeling of relief filling him. He grabs a chair and sits by the dinner table, intending to skim his favorite parts, when a folded piece of paper falls out of the book. Steeling himself, he unfolds it, greeted by Tony’s familiar handwriting.

_Steve,_

_You left this book, and it seemed like it was important to you. Listen, you have no obligation to read this, but I want to tell you that I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and I’m so, so sorry for giving it to you in the first place. I honestly meant to turn you away, to make you leave us alone, but then – I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’m sorry. You were so fascinating, the great Captain Rogers in the flesh, and I was petty. I wanted to get back at the Council, steal their best man – but I also knew that if I could convince you, if I had you on my side, I’d be invincible._

_~~There’s so much I want to say, but~~ _

_I threw out everything I had after you left. Pepper was to make it clear you could leave at any time._

_She misses you, by the way. We both do._

_Tony_

The note crumples in Steve’s hand, so he has to smooth it out to reread it. His fingers trace Tony’s words, feeling the grooves where he’d dug his pen into the paper. There’s still nothing for him in Ubilam, other than Tony and Pepper, and he thinks about what she said, about the unhealthiness of building your life around one person.

He looks at his bookshelf, and wonders if it’s better to build it around memories and dust.

*

This time, Steve knows exactly where he’s going. He takes his bike.

Even with military chem-fuel, the ride takes him two days. Time passes slowly and awkwardly, like he’s perpetually caught in that drop between decision and consequence. It starts snowing once he gets closer to Ubilam, the white flakes obscuring his vision and forcing him to slow the breakneck speed he’s been maintaining. The trees take the brunt of the snow once he’s in the woods, but the uneven ground makes him abandon driving his bike completely in favor of rolling it alongside him.

When he finally reaches the house, he takes a long moment before knocking on the door. Is he sure he’s making the right choice, is he ready to forgive Tony?

He looks at the snow falling, the cold working its way under his clothing, and thinks about what’s awaiting him inside.

Steve knocks.

“Pepper’s not here, Maria, I think she’s at Myr – _Steve_.” Tony stops short at the sight of him, mouth falling open before he consciously closes it. “Are you here to punch me?”

Steve pauses to take in his appearance, how his white shirt is blackened by soot and the faint circles under his eyes. “No,” he says finally, and Tony’s shoulders slump in relief.

“I’d deserve it.”

“Then, you would’ve,” Steve says. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

Tony smiles hesitantly at him, and Steve reaches out to cup his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss that quickly becomes more frantic as Tony seems to realize that this is okay, that he’s allowed this.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” Steve gets out in between kisses, hands finding Tony’s waist.

“Later,” Tony promises, tugging Steve closer and into the warmth of the house.

*

They do talk, after they’ve both calmed down, curled into each other on the living room sofa.

“You should talk to Fury,” Steve says. Tony hums, tracing circles on Steve’s biceps.

“Maybe,” he replies, not looking up. “What did you tell him?”

“What you told me.” Tony tilts his face upward to look at Steve, who frowns a little. “I didn’t – I didn’t tell him about the potion.”

“I don’t want him to know,” Tony says firmly. His hands stop moving. “Information spreads like wildfire in places like that, and sooner or later, it’ll reach the ears of someone willing to use it.”

“Do you really think it’s wise,” Steve says carefully, meeting his eyes, “for it to stay in your hands? For you to hold that much power?”

Tony’s gaze drops, and Steve wonders if they’re going to have a problem – but then his eyes dart back up, a grin pulling at his lips. “I have you now, don’t I?” he says, smile growing. “It doesn’t matter that mine’s a bit faulty, because you can be my moral compass.”

Steve groans at the horrendous line, but he can’t fight back a small smile – and Tony’s grin turns so self-satisfied he has to kiss it away.


End file.
